<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>dont let him see you cry by creveli</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27008545">dont let him see you cry</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/creveli/pseuds/creveli'>creveli</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Clone High</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Blood and Injury, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, a lot of crying, cradling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:07:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,908</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27008545</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/creveli/pseuds/creveli</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>au where mr. butlertron doesn’t intervene at the dinner with the shadowy figures</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lynn Butlertron &amp; Cinnamon J. Scudworth, Lynn Butlertron/Cinnamon J. Scudworth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. oh, wesley</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i wrote this in google docs at 1 am last night on my phone so i didnt do spelling corrections, but im really proud of it regardless! ill try to continue it if i feel like it, but anyways, i hope yall enjoy it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>stupid wesley</em>
</p>
<p>mr butlertron furiously slams the oven shut, letting butter tears dribble down his metallic face before wiping them away. he doesnt even know how scudworth programmed him to be able to cry. what a stupid, useless idea. he never cared about his feelings, even from the beginning of his creation. he was created to serve and yet, heres that selfish wesley, adding insult to injury by giving him the ability to make him feel pain and cry</p>
<p>he grabs ahold of the garbage bag sitting in the corner and huffs, dragging the bag towards the back door to the outside world. he ignores the light chatter between the league of shadowy figures and scudworth, trying to not cry too loudly</p>
<p>
  <em>i hate him... no, wait- thats too harsh... actually, no- i hate him! he’s so hurtful, after all ive done for him! why did i ever believe he would be kind to me, that i could be more than a simple butler?</em>
</p>
<p>his breathing (he then shakily grumbles about how he doesnt need to breathe) starts to tremble, trying to force his angry thoughts out. now standing by the door, he closes his eyes and sighs</p>
<p>
  <em>does he… not see me as a friend? no… i am a butler! how stupid. we could never be more than colleagues and friends. we could nev-</em>
</p>
<p>he suddenly hears the unruly sound of chair legs scratching the hardwood flooring, making him jump and feel more upset. great, just great. another thing scudworth was going to gripe to him about</p>
<p>“what-what are you doing, sir?” he idly hears scudworth ask, not really paying attention, as he was now back to taking care of the trash</p>
<p>“something i should have done a long time ago, cinammon.” the deep voice of the lead shadowy figure boom. “you’ve been… useful, i guess, but i'm afraid i now dont need you anymore… i am taking my clones back.”</p>
<p>wait, what-?</p>
<p>“y-you cant do that!” scudworth shouts, his voice wavering in genuine fear. this was serious, the butler thinks. i have to do something. wesley is horrible under pressure. he quickly turns around and starts to make his way towards the living room</p>
<p>“i can, and i will.”</p>
<p>then he hears the sound of a gun cocking, making him stop in his tracks, terrified. wesley… they were going to kill him.</p>
<p>they were going to kill his wesley</p>
<p>no. no.</p>
<p><em>no</em>.</p>
<p>“goodbye, scudworth.”</p>
<p>“WAIT-!” scudworth cries, but its too late. the sound of a gunshot breaks the tension hanging in the air, the thump of a body hitting the floor following suit.</p>
<p>mr butlertron covers his mouth to block any sound of screaming and crying from perpetrating, but nevertheless, a wave of tears stream down his face for the second time that night</p>
<p>
  <em>NOOOOOOOOOOO!!</em>
</p>
<p>oh my god, oh my god-</p>
<p>through the shouting in his head, he hears the quiet sounds of uniformed footsteps exiting the house. they continue, until two figures remain</p>
<p>“...sir.”</p>
<p>“yes, soldier?” the butler grits his teeth, feeling anger at the sound of the shadowy figures chillingly calm voice</p>
<p>“didnt mr scudworth have a butler?”</p>
<p>mr b freezes, trembling with fear. he doesnt move a muscle</p>
<p>“he did.”</p>
<p>“well, shouldnt we take care of it next? what if its here?”</p>
<p>mr b suppresses his anger at being referred to as an it. he wants to contact the police, but he cant make a noise. they’ll kill him, too. he cant die. he doesnt want to die. not yet.</p>
<p>he’s shaking. he’s never felt like this, in all of his life. he’s scared. he’s so scared. he’s shaking. he’s shaking. he’s-</p>
<p>“...no, that isn’t necessary. cinnamon appears to be alone. besides, who would believe that tin can?” the lead shadowy figure laughs, the lower recruit awkwardly laughing with him after a few seconds</p>
<p>“you’re right, sir. and because of that, i wont even check the rest of the apartment!” they continue to laugh</p>
<p>“good, soldier. lets depart, before someone finds the body.” and thus, the soldiers left the apartment, the creak of the door shutting the last thing the butler heard</p>
<p>he waits. and waits. it was only seconds, maybe a minute or two, but he waits. he ensures that the shadowy figures dont come back for good measure.</p>
<p>finally, he’s certain that he’s in the clear, he doesnt hold back. he bursts out of the kitchen doors, audibly panicked and sobbing.</p>
<p>“WESLEY! OH, GOD!”</p>
<p>he gasps as he enters the living room, the sight in front of him etched in his brain, forever. a sight he never wanted to see again</p>
<p>cinnamon scudworth, with a gunshot wound to his stomach, lying on the floor in his own blood, still as the world around them.</p>
<p>“...wesley?” his once wailing and loud voice was now demoted to a quiet whimper as he looked at his colleague- no, his friend, on the floor. he was gone. scudworth, he was… he was just- just gone. how?!</p>
<p>“i… w-weeees-ley,” he chokes, letting his typical robotic drawl get the better of him as he squeezes his eyes shut and cries.</p>
<p>“im-im soooorr-y. this is-this is all m-my fault. wesley… s-scudworth, im...” very hesitantly, yet gently, he touches scudworths body, perhaps trying to accept the fact that he would never move again. he was still warm, but he knew soon, that wouldnt be the truth</p>
<p>mr b lets out a wail, draping himself over his body, burying his face into his chest, muttering apologies and begs, even though, really, he didnt have anything to apologize for.</p>
<p>“pleaaaasee… dont leave me,” he cries, shaking like a leaf. he knows its selfish to say, as scudworth, albeit dead, was not committed to him. even grieving, mr b still was the polite server he was</p>
<p>“i cant bear to be alo-o-o-ne… i have nowhere else to go-o-o…” he grits his teeth and chokes, holding onto his friends limp body tighter</p>
<p>“oh, w-we-e-esley…”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. chapter 1 rewrite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>AU where Mr. Butlertron doesn't intervene at the dinner between Scudworth and The Secret Board of Shadowy Figures (rewritten version)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey all! im sorry if you were waiting for a second chapter or you've just stumbled upon this. i wanted to kinda freshen up the first chapter a bit whilst showing you all said freshening. im writing an actual second chapter, its just taking me a bit to stay motivated. i dont really know what to do with it but i definitely wanna try and keep going!</p>
<p>hope yall enjoy this! constructive criticism is appreciated</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Soooo… religions for fools, eh? Fools and liberals!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <em>Stupid Wesley.</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Butlertron furiously slams the oven shut, bitter tears dribble down his metallic face as he continues to let out choked, yet quiet sobs. He’s always been sensitive, but Scudworth didn’t care. Scudworth never cared about him; for him to think otherwise, even for a second, was a stupid idea. He doesn't even know how Scudworth programmed him to be able to cry! Other engineers and scientists would bend over backwards to try and uncover that mystery, but in reality, it was a stupid, useless idea. It only made the fact more apparent, that Cinnamon never has and most likely never will care about his feelings. He was created to serve and yet, here's that selfish, unappreciative, no good backstabbing Wesley, adding insult to injury by giving him the ability to make him feel pain and cry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tightly grabs a hold of the garbage bag sitting in the corner and huffs, dragging the bag towards the back door to the outside world. The awkward silence in the other room is so deafening that, despite Lynn’s fury and frustration towards his creator, he can’t help but stop and look towards the kitchen door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><em>Should I intervene?</em> He ponders the idea of gracefully entering the living room, using his infinite charm to earn the praise of the board and of his creator, like a soap opera on a hidden channel that nobody paid any mind to. He raises a hand to his chin (or lack of thereof,) encouraging the thought. Scudworth was terrible with social skills and interaction, as he spends most of his time cooped up in his little office, either scheming or creating some kind of useless invention that eventually blew up in his face. It was why Mr. Butlertron was usually the one who talked to people when the two were together, which, more often than not, was always. If Scudworth were to take the lead, he would probably ramble on for hours and hours about something irrelevant and they would both be unemployed at the end of the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lynn drops the garbage bag and rolls over to the door, hand hovering over the knob. Even though he was angry with Scudworth, he couldn’t leave him out to dry, could he? He was supposed to be the polite, level headed one out of the duo. He’s given advice to so many students he could qualify to be a counselor, and one of his main points towards those students who have a thirst for vengeance was an old saying: an eye for an eye makes the world go blind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><em>But would he do the same for me?</em> He thinks, his hand now resting fully on the doorknob. Although he has no sense of taste, he swore he could feel a bitter taste in his mouth. The answer was no, Scudworth wouldn’t do the same for him. He could almost laugh at this, if he hadn’t been ordered to stay quiet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <em>What a stupid thing for me to believe.</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turning around, he resumes his previous task of taking the trash out. He grabs a hold of the big black bag, feeling a heavy sense of sadness. His breathing (he then shakily grumbles about how he doesn’t need to breathe) resumes its trembling as he tries to hold back the urge to cry again. The pain this time felt less like easy rage and more like a deep wound that couldn’t be healed. Even then, he can’t help but ask himself why once more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why does he not… not see me as a friend? No… I am a butler! How ridiculous. We could never be more than colleagues and friends-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait… be more than friends? Why would-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, the unruly sound of chair legs scratching the hardwood flooring screeches through the apartment. It breaks him from his anxious train of thought and makes him jump out of his.. Metal? Robotic skin? Whatever. Now, he only feels more upset. Great, just great. Another thing Scudworth was going to gripe to him about later on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What-What are you doing, sir?” He idly hears Scudworth’s quiet voice ask, not really paying attention, as he was now back to taking care of the trash and moping.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Something I should have done a long time ago, Cinnamon,” the deep voice of the lead shadowy figure booms. Mr. B begins to eavesdrop, now curious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve been… useful, I suppose, but I'm afraid I now don't need you anymore… I am taking my clones back, once and for all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wait, what-? Lynn drops the trash and pays his full attention to the conversation playing outside. They were going to take the clones back? Why?! They weren’t even that grown up yet! Either way, they aren’t even cut out for being soldiers, much less “super soldiers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scudworth’s voice notably hitches in shock. “Y-You can't do that!” He shouts, his voice wavering in genuine fear. This was serious, Lynn thinks to himself. <em>I have to do something now!</em> Wesley was already bad enough at talking to them, but he’s even worse under pressure. He quickly turns around and starts to make his way towards the living room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, but the thing is, Cinnamon: I can, and I will.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of a gun cocking makes him stop in his tracks. He doesn’t move a muscle, he doesn’t even breathe. He had always known a day like this would come, but he shoved it back into the deep crevices of his mind, telling himself that he would be prepared or that it was just him being paranoid. Suddenly, that day was here and he wasn’t prepared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should have been prepared. He should have known and now… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>...this was all his fault.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were really going to do it. They were going to kill Wesley.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No. No. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Nonononononononononono-</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Scudworth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“WAIT-!” Scudworth cries out, but it's too late. The sound of a gunshot breaks the tension hanging in the air, the thump of a body hitting the floor following suit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Butlertron covers his mouth to block any sound of screaming and crying from perpetrating, but nevertheless, a wave of tears stream down his face for the second time that night. He can only hear ringing now, all sound and all sense leaving his body. Time had stopped and now, now he was nothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piercing through the shouting in his head, he hears the quiet sounds of uniformed footsteps exiting the house. When they eventually end, he almost rushes out of the room, but freezes when he hears two remaining voices</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...sir?” It was a voice, different from the main shadowy figure’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, soldier?” The butler grits his teeth, feeling anger at the sound of the shadowy figures' chillingly calm voice. How dare he be so calm when he just took a life away from this world? Away from him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn't Mr. Scudworth have a butler?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. B’s thoughts go dead quiet as he begins to practically shiver with fear. He holds his breath, refusing to let himself make any sort of sound. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“..He did, yes. Why do you ask?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“W-Well,” the other man continues, slightly nervous, “shouldn't we take care of it next? what if it's here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. B swallows his irritation at being referred to as an it. He desperately wants to contact the police, to contact an ambulance, but he can’t make a noise. They’ll kill him, too. And as hopeless and despair filled as he felt right at that moment, he can't die. He doesn't want to die. Not yet. Not for a while.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His shaking betrays his desperation to remain calm. He’s never felt like this- in all of his life, he’s never felt such a deep terror that was so gripping and ugly. He’s scared. He’s so scared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...No, that isn’t necessary. Cinnamon appears to be alone; he would never let anyone see this kind of dump,” he says, looking around the room. “Besides, who would believe that tin can?” The lead shadowy figure laughs, the lower recruit awkwardly laughing with him after a few seconds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right, sir. And because of that, I won't even check the rest of the apartment!” They continue to laugh, the noise like nails to a chalkboard to Mr. Butlertron.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good, soldier. Let's depart, before someone finds the body,” he says, nudging Scudworth’s limp arm with his foot. And thus, the soldiers left the apartment, the creak of the door shutting the last thing the butler heard from them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The apartment is silence once again, the only sound the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall. As much as he doesn’t want to, he waits. Although it was only seconds, maybe a minute or two, it felt like an eternity in Hell. He just needed to ensure the shadowy figures wouldn’t come back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, when he’s certain that he’s in the clear, he doesn't hesitate to move. He bursts out of the kitchen doors, letting out his panicked sobs that were begging to be freed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We-e-e-esly!” He practically cries out for him, but stops abruptly, the sight in front of him etched into his hardware forever and then some. It was something he wished up and down he would never, ever see again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cinnamon J. Scudworth, with a gunshot wound to his chest, lying on the floor in his own blood, still as the world around them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he was human, he might have started throwing up. He almost wished he could, just to relieve some of the suffering. This was horrible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Wesley?” His once wailing and loud voice had now shrunken to a quiet whimper as he looked at his colleague, his creator, his.. his friend, on the floor. He was gone. The boastful and prideful Scudworth was just- just gone. <em>How?!</em></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… W-We-e-e-es-ley,” he chokes, letting his typical robotic drawl get the better of him as he squeezes his eyes shut and cries. He moves towards his body and falls to his knees next to him. Hesitantly, as if he was afraid to touch him and accept he would never move again, he gently smooths the hair out of his face. He’s warm, he notes, but he knew soon that that won't be the case.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I am so so-o-o-orr-y. This is-This is all m-my fault, We-e-e-esley… S-Scudworth, I’m… I’m sorry,” he cries, taking a hold of his head and cradling it close. Tears fell down from his face and onto Scudworths, whose eyes were closed and his glasses haphazardly blown off of him. He continues to mumble apologizes into his cheek, even though he would never be forgiven. Maybe he deserves it; he should have intervened. Why, <em>why</em> had he been so stubborn? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no point in thinking that now. He just needed to say goodbye, before he would be unable to hold his friend again. Stil, he can’t help but make a desperate plea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ple-e-e-ease… don't leave me,” he cries, holding his head tighter. “I have nowhere to go-o-o-o. He knows it's selfish and pointless to say, since Scudworth was dead and, in both life and the other, he had no commitment to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even grieving, he was always the polite butler he was intended to be. Nothing more, nothing less.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, W-We-e-esley…” He cries out again, his wails echoing in the apartment to nobody at all, for now, he was alone until the day he rusted away.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>main insta: mypeacockfeathers<br/>art insta: somegoreyfantasy (ive posted scudlertron fanart there lmao)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>insta - somegoreyfantasy</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>